


If You Want To Be Polite

by belmanoir



Category: due South
Genre: Episode Tag, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-05
Updated: 2012-04-05
Packaged: 2017-11-03 02:14:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/375970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/belmanoir/pseuds/belmanoir
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It only takes an extra second to be courteous. (Set immediately after "Vault.")</p>
            </blockquote>





	If You Want To Be Polite

**Author's Note:**

> This was a 2007 holiday giftfic for snoopypez. Prompt: "Fraser/Ray. Funny. Maybe related to Vault. No established relationship. Maybe some awkwardness."

Even after Ray gets home and showers and changes into dry clothes---even after the fear of suffocation and drowning recede---he can't stop thinking about something Benny said.

_Never. Well, except for that one time._

Ray has no idea what Fraser was talking about or when he thinks Ray failed him. And he knows Fraser will never tell him. Hell, Ray doesn't even want to know, not really, because what if the answer is _You kept me from living happily ever after with the heartless bitch of my dreams_? 

Whatever. He can live with not knowing. But it makes him wonder...what else doesn't he know? What other grudges is Benny holding? What else is Ray doing to piss Benny off without having a single fucking clue? 

He knows he irritates Fraser sometimes. It's never been a big deal, seeing as Fraser irritates him too, on a pretty much constant basis. But he always figured that that was okay, because the other stuff, the best friends and partners stuff, must outweigh that.

That was before Fraser almost ran out on him on a train platform. Ray figures he better shape up if he doesn't want to get left.

So he starts being polite. Not Fraser-grade, obviously, but he holds the door open, he says thank you to Elaine, he talks quietly in public places whenever he remembers to and lets Gardino cut ahead of him in line for the coffee machine. It doesn't seem to have much effect, except to fill Ray with constant simmering frustration. He isn't even sure Fraser notices until a couple of weeks later. 

They're working the kind of case Ray hates---some rich asshole's cufflinks disappeared from a room at the Drake Hotel and he's convinced (a) that the maid stole them and (b) that the Chicago PD has nothing better to do than get them back for him. On a normal day Welsh would chuckle grimly and tell the rich asshole to check the lost-and-found, but the guy happens to be the brother-in-law of the Commissioner. "Vecchio," Welsh said when Ray protested, "since you and Constable Fraser evidently prefer chatting in the supply closet to working actual cases, am I to conclude that you would enjoy being pulled from active duty to run the requisitions department?"

So they're outside the Drake, and Ray's holding the door open for what appears to be several nursing homes' worth of little old ladies. He swears the elderly population of Chicago has mutated to sense when Fraser is standing near a door.

"You've made your point, Ray," Fraser says suddenly, and brushes past him and through the door. Ray lets go of the door in total and complete shock, and barely catches it before it breaks an octogenarian's wrist. When he finally gets inside Fraser is just standing in the middle of the lobby, his rigid back to the entrance, staring straight ahead.

"What the hell, Fraser?" Ray demands, circling around and facing him.

"If I'm really so dull," Fraser says with that hard note he hardly ever lets into his voice, not when he's talking to Ray, "I fail to see why you continue to---"

"Dull?" Ray asks, completely flabbergasted. "Fraser, what are you talking about?"

Fraser's mouth is tight. "I'm talking about the way you've been behaving like a spiritless automaton for the last fortnight. I assumed that you would tire of it if you failed to provoke a reaction, but clearly I was wrong. I know that you find my comportment distressing, but I had hoped that I deserved---or no, did not deserve, but rather could expect better from your generous nature. If I have worn out your forbearance---"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, Fraser!" Ray holds up his hands, appalled. "I was just---I was just trying---You thought I was making fun of you?"

Fraser's eyes widen nervously. "I don't know what else I was to think."

Ray throws his hands in the air. "I was just trying to irritate you less! Because this may come as a shock, Fraser, but running your thumb over your eyebrow does not activate your cloaking device! I can _see_ you doing it, and I _know_ it means I'm embarrassing you! So I just thought---" 

Fraser gulps. "Oh. Oh, dear. I do apologize for my temperamental outburst, Ray. I was---"

"You were upset, I got that. It's okay to be upset, Fraser." Ray thinks about "dull" and starts to smile. "You missed my bad manners, huh?"

Fraser actually blushes. "Well, I---" He clears his throat. "That is---"

Ray grins. "Look, Fraser, I'm not saying you're not the most annoying man in the world."

"Understood."

"But---" Ray sighs. There's no way to say this without sounding queer, but Benny's Canadian, he won't notice. He hasn't noticed any of the other queer shit coming off of Ray in waves, right? "You're also the most amazing man in the world, okay? I mean, you gotta know I think that, Fraser. I spend practically every waking hour with you!" _And it's only 'cause you're not interested that I'm not spending the sleeping ones with you too._

Fraser blinks and very obviously tries to hide an enormous smile. "I---Thank you, Ray."

"You're welcome," Ray says gruffly. "Now can we go look for some cufflinks?"

Fraser puts a hand on Ray's arm to stop him from turning around. "Presently, Ray." He clears his throat, still looking happy. "Ray, you know I originally settled in Chicago out of necessity---well, necessity combined with certain other factors. But it has been hinted to me that a posting up North might be available again if I wanted it. A very remote one, naturally, but---"

There's more, but Ray can't hear it over the sick humiliated buzzing in his ears. He makes a major declaration, he goes out on a very big fucking limb to make Fraser feel better, and Fraser responds with _I'm leaving_? Fraser is _leaving_? The worst part is that Benny still has that shy little smile on his face, like he expects Ray to be _happy_ for him.

Ray stumbles backward. "Jesus, Fraser," he said, "you can't just---you can't just spring something like that on a guy! You gotta---you're leaving? _When?_ I---shit, I---we should go talk to the concierge." He spins on his heel, but he doesn't get more than a couple of steps before Fraser is in front of him, reaching out again. 

Ray tries to evade him---but let's face it, this is Benny. Ray doesn't try very hard. So Benny puts his hands on him, holds him gently but firmly against the wall by the payphones, and gets politely in his face. 

"Ray," he says, "Ray, _listen_ to me. I'm not going."

"What?" Ray says stupidly. 

"I'm not going," Fraser says again. "Ray. I was---" He sighs. "It would appear my ability to communicate successfully is at a low ebb this week. I was merely attempting to reciprocate your very flattering statement by---" Jesus, his eyes are blue. "I informed my superiors that I have no intention of leaving Chicago."

"Because of---because of---"

Fraser nods. 

"Oh." Ray blinks, and suddenly things have shifted. They haven't moved, Fraser's hands haven't budged an inch from their original spot on Ray's upper arms, but everything has changed. Ray knows he isn't imagining that. And he isn't imagining it that Fraser's expression is asking him a determined, nervous question. Ray nods.

Fraser leans in slow and then hovers, giving Ray plenty of time to say _no, that's not what I meant_. Ray doesn't, because that's _exactly_ what he meant, and Fraser kisses him next to the payphones in the lobby of the Drake. Rich people and mirrors and two-hundred-watt hotel lights everywhere, and Fraser's in _uniform_ , and he kisses Ray anyway.

Suddenly it's like instead of being on the outside of the Fraser craziness trying not to get sucked in, Ray's part of it, surrounded by it---he and Fraser are spiraling upwards on a great poofy cloud of insanity and everything is bright and sharp and tilted just a little to the left as Fraser slips his tongue in Ray's mouth---

Shit, this is crazy. "Fraser," Ray says, turning his head a little. "Fraser, stop."

Fraser does, because he's polite, but Ray only has so much self-control and a second later he's pulling Fraser back. "Benny, this is crazy," he murmurs against Fraser's mouth. "Someone's gonna see us."

Fraser nods and steps back, and doesn't point out that someone's probably already seen them. "Perhaps we should work the case," he says, and marches off towards the desk. 

Ray stares after him for a moment. Then he straightens, shakes his head, wipes his mouth, and hurries after him.

"Constable Benton Fraser, RCMP," Fraser is saying to the girl at the desk. "Ah, Ray, there you are. This is my partner, Detective Ray Vecchio of the Chicago Police Department. We're here regarding the matter of Mr. Ankhauer-Smith's cufflinks." Ray flashes his badge.

"Oh, yes, of course," the girl says, leaning forward so far that the buttons of her demure white shirt and even the little plastic nametag saying _I'm Cindy, how can I help you?_ look like they're about to pop off. "Please, if there's anything I can do for you, don't hesitate to ask." Ray guesses she didn't see them kissing, then. He's not sure if this is a good thing or a bad thing.

"Thank you kindly, Cindy," Fraser says, smiling at her. "We were hoping to take a look at Mr. Ankhauer-Smith's room, if it's unoccupied."

"Oh, certainly," Cindy says, her expression going hazy under the influence of Fraser's smile. "I'll be happy to show you the room myself, if you'll just let me page someone to take over for me here."

"Thank you, Cindy, but that won't be necessary," Fraser says. "Examining the room on our own allows us to avoid preconceptions. I would, however, like to borrow a wrench."

She's obviously disappointed, but she gives them the key to room 824 and calls for a wrench. It takes forever for it to get there, while Fraser stands there cool as a cucumber and Ray, watching him, starts to sweat. Finally a janitor ambles up, Fraser pockets the wrench, and Ray follows Fraser to the elevators. The door opens. There are already five people inside, plus their pets and designer luggage. Ray and Fraser look at each other.

"You know, Ray, it only takes an extra second to be courteous," Fraser says, and half a minute later they're kissing in the stairwell. Fraser is hot and solid against him, buttons digging into Ray's chest through his silk shirt. Ray has never been more grateful for Fraser's habit of taking the stairs---although he's also grateful that Mr. Ankhauer-Smith was only staying on the eighth floor. If it were any further, either his legs would have given out or he and Fraser would have had sex on the landing, whichever came sooner. Really, he supposes the two options aren't mutually exclusive.

Instead they straighten their clothes, walk briskly from the stairwell to room 824, go inside, and start kissing against the wall again.

"What do you want?" Ray asks breathlessly as Fraser sucks on his earlobe. "God, I been thinking about this. In that vault I thought we were gonna drown and all I could think about was you in that uniform---"

"Really?" 

"Well, sure," Ray says, "I mean, you had your sleeves rolled up and there was water pouring off you like you were in a carwash porno and your eyelashes had droplets of water in them and God, those lights..." He trails off because Fraser has stopped kissing his neck.

"I think we could duplicate those circumstances, Ray," Fraser says.

"No way, Fraser," Ray says hastily. "I will do a lot of things for good sex but trapping myself in another bank vault is not one of them. Also, no dumpsters or garbage trucks, although I know how romantic you find them---"

"Oh, I didn't have in mind anything dangerous," Fraser says. He goes over to the telephone and dials 0. "Cindy? Constable Fraser here. Does this hotel provide a dry-cleaning service? Thank you kindly. No, we don't need anything else at the moment. Thank you." He hangs up and goes into the bathroom. Ray waits for a moment, but Fraser doesn't come back out, so he follows him in. 

Fraser has taken off his jacket, folded it, and placed it neatly on the closed lid of the toilet. He's standing in front of the shower stall...the large, enclosed, well-lit shower stall. 

When Ray comes in, he reaches in, turns on the spray, and starts rolling up his sleeves. 

Ray kind of suspected Fraser meant something like this, but he still can't believe it. "Fraser!" he exclaims, shocked. "What about your uniform?" He watches Fraser's forearms revealed inch by inch. 

"The hotel provides a dry-cleaning service, Ray," Fraser reminds him, but he looks uncertain. Ray thinks about the vault, how he stared at wet, gleaming Fraser and thought _Last chance, last chance, last chance_. And this is his _first_ chance, and Fraser is willing to mess up his _uniform_ for this. 

Ray toes off his shoes (because he loves these shoes, he bought them off the back of a truck before he became a cop and he can't afford to replace them now he doesn't do that anymore) and barrels forward, knocking Fraser into the spray. Fraser's back hits the tile, and then Ray's plastered against Fraser's chest and getting more plastered by the second as cool water pours over them and drenches their clothing. 

At first it just feels damp and kind of awkward, but Ray barely notices because he's kissing Fraser. The water soaks through quickly, though, and in some weird way the pressure of the wet silk and wool against his skin turns into another caress. Fraser's hands go almost immediately to the fastenings of Ray's slacks, which surprises Ray no end. And yeah, he's thought about that obsessively for months, Fraser jerking him off or sucking him, but right now---he just wants to watch Fraser. 

He pulls back, braces himself with a hand by Fraser's shoulder. "Let me," he says, and it's a fucking miracle, because Fraser does what Ray tells him to for once. He stands there with his eyes closed and his chest heaving and water dripping down his face into his open mouth while Ray fumbles with his zipper. When Ray gets his hand inside, Fraser opens his eyes, blinking away the water and watching Ray. It's terrifying, the trust and happiness there. Because when Fraser falls he falls, Ray's seen that, and he can't hurt Fraser, he can't---

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong, Benny," Ray says, hoping Fraser can't hear his voice cracking over the noise of the shower. "I got you." He grabs the complimentary round bar of soap and rips off the pleated paper covering. He soaps up his hands and takes hold of Fraser's dick.

"Hmm. Chamomile, glycerin, and--- _Ray_!"

Ray thanks God for the ten millionth time that he was shot in the _left_ shoulder, because that one's still pretty sore and if he couldn't do this he thinks he might actually cry. He jerks Benny off---no rush, nothing fancy, just long, slow strokes---and watches him. Fraser braces himself with his arms against the tile, and whenever Ray's eyes go to his face, Fraser is watching him too. 

The trust in that, even though Fraser's been hurt so bad, the trust in every line of Fraser's body---how he just leans there and _lets_ Ray, lets Ray see him, makes quiet little moans and thrusts gently into Ray's fist and keeps his eyes open the whole time---in the end it's Ray who looks away, Ray who looks down and sees the nice leather shoes that go with the brown uniform soaked with water, maybe ruined. He lunges forward and kisses Fraser, who tastes like water and sweat and catches him with two strong hands just before Ray slips on the tile. 

"Ray," Fraser says quietly, his hands spasming on Ray's arms, and comes.

It's washed away almost instantly by the water, which is at the same time convenient and weirdly disappointing, like now that the evidence is gone Ray will never be able to prove this really happened.

Fraser takes his hands off Ray's arms, and Ray drags his eyes up to Benny's face. _Shit._ Fraser's looking at Ray anxiously and trying to figure out how to say something, Ray can tell. He's suddenly sure that Benny's backing out, he's changed his mind, he's not gay after all and Ray didn't even get to come.

Then Fraser says, hesitantly, "May I?"

"May you what, Benny?"

Fraser's hands hover in the air. "Touch you, Ray."

Ray's heart stops. "Jesus, Fraser," he explodes. "You don't gotta _ask!_ Or I mean, you can ask if you want to be polite, but I'm not gonna say _no_."

Fraser relaxes, slumps against the tile, and smiles sheepishly. "Thank you, Ray."

His lips are blue, and suddenly Ray realizes he's shivering himself. "You're just cold, Benny," he says. "It's making you say stupid things." He reaches around and turns the water to hot. "Come on, take your clothes off."

Fraser smiles a little as steam starts to fill the shower stall. "Isn't that my line?" he asks, and then they're both struggling out of their wet clothes, Fraser somehow managing to untie his shoelaces with one hand while pushing off his braces with the other. Ray opens the door a few inches and shoves the sodden mass of clothes out onto the floor with his foot, and then realizes he's naked in a shower with Benny and they never even kissed before today.

"I'm easy," he says, startled.

"I wouldn't say that, Ray." Now Fraser's backing Ray up against the wall, so he's got chilly tile all along his back and Fraser all along his front. Hot water traces a hundred shivery-warm lines on his skin. Ray shamelessly humps Benny's hip because let's face it, being polite is not his thing and apparently Fraser's okay with that. "This is actually close to the accepted Western pattern of romantic relationships in recent centuries: a long, chaste courtship followed by the wedding night. Of course that is an over-simplification, eliding factors of class and geography, but---"

"You want me to lie back and think of Canada?" Ray asks.

Benny's fingers close around his dick. "Not particularly," he murmurs in Ray's ear, his deep voice thrumming through every nerve Ray's got.

"Jesus, Benny," he gets out, clutching at Fraser's hips to keep from falling over and thrusting wildly into Fraser's fist. The whole world is hot and wet, and then Benny's tongue licks a hot, wet stripe up Ray's neck from his collarbone to his ear, and he shouts and loses it. There's no rhythm to it---Ray's just shaking and shattering, fever and chills and joy and hot-water kisses all over every inch of him. He can't even get the breath to moan.

" _Jesus_ , Benny," he says again when he's come down enough to draw in some air, and the hot water just feels like a shower again. "You don't fuck around." 

"I didn't do anything out of the ordinary, Ray," Fraser points out, and Ray realizes it's true. That wasn't Fraser's sexual expertise, it was just _Fraser_. It was just how Ray feels about him.

"A wedding night, huh?" Ray says, reaching behind Fraser and turning off the water. "I tend to associate those with a lot more alcohol and relatives."

Fraser blushes and follows Ray out of the shower. He's naked and flushed and dripping on the mat and it's every jerk-off fantasy Ray ever tried to pretend he didn't have. He hands Fraser a towel, but that doesn't help. Fraser toweling his hair could start gang wars. 

"Well, Ray," Fraser says, drying his ears, "I was speaking metaphorically." He pulls on one of the fluffy hotel bathrobes and picks up his jacket to get the wrench out of the pocket. Then, while Ray's trying to think of something to say that won't put way too much pressure on this, he kneels down and starts messing around under the sink, his head and shoulders disappearing inside.

It puts his terry-cloth-covered ass pretty much right in Ray's line of sight. Ray shrugs into the other bathrobe and says, "I don't know what you're doing in _there_ , but I sure like what you're doing out _here_." 

There's a thunking noise, like maybe Fraser's head hitting a pipe, and then Fraser says reproachfully, " _Ray_."

"Hey, I never asked you to bend over," Ray says, grinning. "Not yet, anyway."

"You don't have to ask, Ray," Fraser says serenely, his voice muffled by the sink's cabinet. "That is, you can ask if you wish to be polite, but I'm not going to say no."

Ray almost swallows his tongue. 

Fraser's head and arms re-emerge. "Got it!" Fraser says triumphantly, and holds out his hand to show Ray a set of black pearl cufflinks.

Ray blinks. "How did you know?"

"Oh, I didn't," Fraser says. "But the U-bend of the bathroom sink is the single most common location for misplaced men's jewelry."

"How about women?" Ray asks.

"Oh, that would the U-bend of the kitchen sink, Ray. A somewhat troubling comment on our society, I suppose." He goes into the other room, and Ray can hear him calling the desk. "Hello, Cindy? We've found Mr. Ankhauer-Smith's cufflinks. But I'm afraid we've had a bit of difficulty with the plumbing. Can you send someone up to take our clothes for dry-cleaning? Oh, you needn't come yourself...Cindy?...Oh, dear."

Ray snickers.


End file.
